A Series of Entertaining Events
by Ava Miranda Dakedavra
Summary: A collection of one-shots revolving around the Holy Twin and the Brain of the Golden Trio.


Nobody had ever taken George Weasley seriously. Nobody had ever thought he could _be_ serious. But at least the same was said of his twin, Fred, so he couldn't really let it get him down. But after Fred's death, he finally let it get him down, among the loss of his twin. It should've been a happy occasion, what with Ol' Voldy gone, but he just couldn't bring himself to it.

Nobody had ever given Hermione Granger much thought besides '_know-it-all_' before going about their way. Nobody had ever thought she could be something more than that. But she didn't have anyone to confide in. She had to go about throughout school and life and pretend that she didn't care what other people thought of her. The truth was that she _did_ care, albeit only a little. After the end of the war, more and more people started to look up to her. But, then again, more and more people started to look _down_ to her. And the naysayers had Rita Skeeter at the head of their pack.

Many had started to change what they thought of Hermione, from being the brightest witch of the age to being 'that girl.' Hardly anybody had been there for her then either. She still hadn't located her parents in Australia, Harry was being swarmed with press and had little time to sleep let alone do anything with anybody, Ginny was finishing her seventh year at Hogwarts (something she'd thought about doing but decided against it) and Ron had told her that it was just the trends, that things like that happened. But take notice to how everybody still thought highly of him and Harry.

George was the only one caring to listen, caring to offer ways to off Rita Skeeter.

George was the only one who offered to help her move from her little apartment to a much-bigger-than-needed house.

George was the only one she ended up sleeping with.

"Holy mother of Merlin," she groaned into the sheets, gripping them tighter against her as she tried to disappear against the quilt on the grass. Thank Merlin that at least she didn't live in a neighborhood or in an area when anybody would ever pass through. She rubbed at her eyes, thinking. What had she been thinking? What had she been doing prior to whatever had led to that?

"Wine," she murmured stupidly. George had brought wine to celebrate and they'd each drank enough to result in – _that_. Just thinking about it made Hermione's face red, but she felt…pleasant. Happy. At least her body did. Her brain was still muttering traitorous things to the wine.

She pulled her face out of the blanket and peeked an eye open to look at George. He was still asleep, blissfully unaware that Hermione was freaking out. His features were softened in sleep, making him look…happy. She pulled out of the blanket and frowned at him, trying to unfog her head.

He'd given her the wine with a slight smile. Never the full blown-out 'I'm-so-incredibly-happy-right-now' smile. Not since Fred died. She'd smiled back, never the actual 'I'm-totally-fine-with-everything-right-now' smile. Not since everything had happened. They'd talked instead of actually moving her into her new house, ending up on the blanket outside, staring at the stars and laughing.

Until the laughing stopped, leaving them to stare at each other with slight frowns.

"I hate everything right now," he admitted, rubbing at his eyes, "I hate how everybody's feeling sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for me. I'm okay now. I'm freaking _fine_. Everybody's acting like I hide in a closet. I only do that when I play Hide-n-Seek."

Hermione gave a short little laugh, reaching out to smooth his hair back away from his eyes, "I don't feel sorry for you about Fred. I feel sorry for you for having to deal with everybody."

"I feel sorry for you for the same thing," he admitted with a grin, reaching down and pecking her cheek, which turned to them full-out snogging. As he was pecking up and down her neck, he trailed the tip of his nose up until he reached her ear, "I've got a secret to tell you."

"Mmhmm?" she murmured, kissing his jawline, barely registering the fact that he had a hand running through her hair.

She could feel the grin on her ear as he whispered, "I'm not drunk."

"I think I am," she whispered back, arching against him and trying to remember how to breathe.

"No, you're not," he pecked her temple, his blue eyes never leaving her brown ones now, "It was a potion. To loosen up. Have your deepest emotions pour out. You just drank more than I did, that's why you're acting and feel like you're drunk."

"Hmm," she hummed, dipping her head down to kiss the spot underneath his jaw, "Doesn't matter much. I still want to shag you."

He grinned into her hair, picking her face up to kiss her deeply. He pulled back once they needed air, grinning his blown-out grin, "Best potion I ever made."

Hermione took another look at her sleeping partner, finally registering the feeling her nerves were trying to send her – she was happy. Blissfully happy. She could definitely get used to waking up with that feeling every morning – aside from the fact that it was only about three in the morning. But that was a meaningless detail.

George groaned and turned, opening his eyes and finding Hermione. He grinned, pushing her hair back from her face and smoothing down an eyebrow with his thumb. She closed her eyes and grabbed his wrist, smiling back at him.

Yup. She could definitely get used to it.

* * *

><p><em>Seven Months Later…<em>

"Agh!" she screamed, trying to reach out for something – anything – to grab onto, but finding nothing in the air above the blanket as her boyfriend tugged her into the rusty orange colored fabric. He laughed and pulled the sheets over them, having them billow around before finally settling around over the two.

Hermione laughed with him as he helped pull her face out of the swarm of white, seeing the dark sky with shiny lights twinkling at the couple. She sighed, resting her head against his chest as they looked at the familiar constellations.

George pecked her temple, moving down to her neck to slide and kiss her collar bone, letting out a growl of content as she sighed and relaxed against him.

She smiled back at when she'd freaked out over something she'd desperately wanted. It was so stupid. She loved George completely, and never would've found out if it weren't for – in some strange way – all of the people who'd hated her. It'd been fixed, of course, as Harry had finally been able to go and scare some sense into the Prophet to have them fire Rita Skeeter, and her parents had been found and fixed and George had been introduced as her boyfriend. She was happy now.

"We still haven't unpacked that last box," she realized, grinning once he froze in his attack of kisses to pull back and wince at her sheepishly.

"I'm still moving in," he shrugged before going back to putting a purple mark on her neck.

"Is that why we still do this?" she asked, although she was slowly slipping away from reality, from what others saw around them when they had to show it, into whatever crazy place had only her and George.

"Yes," he murmured, a smile pressed against her neck before he gave his blown-out grin, "That still is the best potion I ever made."

She knew it was because of what had happened to them after he'd tested the potion that made it the best potion. He'd made so many more – some that made you have rainbow-skin, gave you hair that inflated and deflated with a loud unflattering noise, and so many more.

She groaned as he got to the place on her neck that, when kissed just right, made her do whatever he wanted. He grinned wider as she arched against him, pulling him closer by tugging on his shirt, kissing him wherever she could reach.

"Nobody else could ever compete with it," she murmured, making George wonder what she meant before he realized that she was still talking about their potion – and yes, it was called _their_ potion.

He grinned, kissing her again, "Nobody else?"

"Nobody."

And that was just the way they liked it.


End file.
